


Black Tie

by rubygirl29



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-01
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rubygirl29/pseuds/rubygirl29
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon in a tux, is something John never thought he'd see.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Black Tie

Inspired by a Prompt   
You all know I love a guy (or two) in a Tux.

Summary: Rodney is receiving an award and the gang goes back to Earth to cheer him on. Continued in "Last Call"

 

Black Tie by Rubygirl

“I feel ridiculous.” Ronon scowled at his reflection in the mirror.

“Well, you don't look ridiculous. You look damn hot.” John was lazing on the bed, his white shirt still open, tie askew, eating an apple. He'd seen a lot of things in his life; some of them pretty amazing, but the most amazing sight was right here in the room with him. Ronon, in a perfectly fitted tuxedo, his dreads tied back with black velvet, and a diamond stud glittering on his ear. He looked like a Renaissance prince -- a disgruntled prince.

“I'm not wearing this!” Ronon yanked off the rumpled length of his bow-tie and dropped it on the floor like it was an alien life-form attempting to strangle him.

John shrugged. “You don't have to. It's not like Rodney is going to notice. He'll be too busy keeping an eye on that shiny medal they're going to put around his neck to care what's around yours.” He set the apple aside and got up from the bed. It was too tempting to grab Ronon, undo his shirt studs, and not leave the room. Hot just wasn't descriptive enough. Duty and McKay required their attention, however, and he wasn't going to let a friend down.

He stood next to Ronon and fastened his own shirt. He did something magic with the silk around his collar and it bent to his will.

“How did you do that?” Ronon asked, both fascinated and disgusted.

“I've been doing it since I was a kid. It kinda goes with the territory. Now you know why I like flying helicopters in Antarctica. Ready?”

He turned and found himself facing the expanse of white that was Ronon's chest. He tipped his head up, and Ronon kissed him. John gave in, yielded, and Ronon tugged at the ends of the tie. It slipped off and fell to the floor.

“I don't wear one. You don't wear one. Deal?” he whispered against John's lips.

John was a bit dizzy from the kiss and Ronon's proximity. God, he even smelled amazing … Soap, starch, expensive cologne that he'd brought at the hotel gift shop at Teyla's mischievous urging. Who wanted to go anywhere? He could spend the night undressing Ronon right here. He pulled Ronon down for another kiss. And just when he'd decided McKay could survive a formal dinner without them, someone knocked at the door.

“Crap,” he sighed. “That's Teyla.” He checked in the mirror for beard burn. Nope. Okay. He tugged at his collar, straightened Ronon's shirt. Caught a glimpse of their reflections. Ronon still looked like a Renaissance prince. His own image, slim and dangerous in black and white, caught him off-guard. Ronon was watching him with hot, hungry eyes. John shivered, knew that same need flared in his like lightning from a summer storm. He drew the pad of his thumb over Ronon's mouth. “Amazing.”

He slung his jacket over his shoulders. “C'mon, stud. We'll finish this later. I promise.”

The End  



	2. Last Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alone, at last ...

Title: Last Call  
Note: Sequel to my ficlet, “Black Tie.”

Summary: Rodney is receiving an award and the gang goes back to Earth to cheer him on.

 

Last Call

The dinner seemed, as most award dinners do, interminable. Once Rodney's medal was around his neck and the applause and photo ops had died down, it was just one boring speech after another followed by the obligatory dance hour to make couples feel that the evening was more than one person winning. Sheppard was ready to climb the walls. It was like being seventeen again, watching his dad get some honor or another, and knowing there was a hot date waiting for him in the lobby.

His current ‘hot’ date was dancing with Teyla. Dancing? Sheppard still couldn’t believe his eyes. Ronon was a constant surprise even after two years. Watching his shipmates, John had to admit they were a stunning couple. Teyla was wearing some sort of sleek, silvery dress that fitted like a second skin and showed off her toned arms and lovely figure. Ronon, the Renaissance prince, held her like she would break in his arms. Which begged the question … Where the hell had Ronon learned to dance?

“They make a gorgeous couple,” Jeannie whispered to John. When she saw his faint frown, she amended, “I mean if they were a couple …”

John tore his gaze away from Ronon. “Kanaan might have something to say about that.”

Jeannie fanned her hot cheeks. “I’m sure he would! But that doesn’t keep people from watching them.”

John felt a twinge of jealousy. He shifted uncomfortably, and tried to avoid looking at Jeannie. Unlike her brother, she combined keen intelligence with emotional perception which made her a dangerous dinner companion when he couldn’t keep his eyes off Ronon.

“I’m still wondering why he asked me to teach him to dance.”

Sheppard nearly choked on the dregs of his coffee. “You?”

Jeannie nodded. “I suppose it's a useful social skill. He learned really fast – not that I'm ready to go on Dancing with the Stars,” she laughed, and Rodney managed to put his medal down for the first time since he'd received it.

“What's so funny?”

“Nothing. Just … I taught Ronon to dance.”

Rodney snorted. “Right.”

“Hey, I did a good job!” She smacked him in the biceps. “See how nice he and Teyla look.”

“Conan and Xena?” He turned around. “Huh. Look at that.”

John was looking, and hoping that his hunger wasn't visible in every line of his body. Earlier, it had been easy to walk out of the hotel room, now he just wanted to get back to that room with Ronon and the king-sized bed. John tried to keep from a complete meltdown as Ronon prowled over to the table when the dance ended. Not even a tux could completely disguise the grace and ferocity of a warrior that he carried with him like a weapon.

“I am exhausted,” Teyla sighed as she sat down. “I think I will go to my room and relax for the rest of the evening. Truly, Jeannie, I do not know how you can wear these torture devices disguised as shoes.” She regarded a silvery stiletto-clad foot. “No matter how nice they look.”

Jeannie glanced at her own more sensible evening pumps. “Teyla, you had to have those to go with the dress. They are perfect.” She sighed. “It’s been a lovely evening, but it’s getting late and Caleb will worry.” She pushed away from the table. “Ready to drive me home, big brother?” Home was currently an SGC guest house not far from Cheyenne Mountain.

“I was ready an hour ago.”

“In other words, right after you got the award.” She gave John an eye roll and he bit his lip, not wanting to ruin Rodney's moment of glory. McKay might irk the hell out of him occasionally, but he deserved recognition from his scientific peers. Not that he'd admit he had peers …

“What's the point of hanging around once the main event is over?” Rodney stood, took another look at the bling around his neck and sighed happily. “Come on, Cinderella. Back to the pumpkin and the professor.”

“It was nice to see everybody without any of the usual complications.” Jeannie pushed away from the table and gave them all hugs. “Ronon, Teyla, you did me proud. John, be careful.” She kissed his cheek, leaving him wondering if it was general concern for his safety, or if she had seen more than he realized.

Rodney waved, oblivious to any emotional undercurrents. “See you all bright and early at SGC.”

Teyla sighed and patted Ronon on the shoulder. “You are a very accomplished dance partner. However, I am going to have a hot bath and soak my poor feet! Goodnight, John.” She followed Rodney and Jeannie out of the banquet room.

Ronon and John looked at each other. “Do you want to blow this pop-stand?” John asked.

“Can't get out of here soon enough.” Ronon's eyes glittered wickedly. “Can we get some real food?”

“Burgers and beer?”

“Sounds good.”

^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
They ended up in the nearly deserted bar. It seemed the scientists weren't party boys and girls. They sat by the balcony, which was as close to being on Atlantis as they could get. There was a comforting familiarity about it, John thought. He took a bite of burger. “Now, that's more like it.”

“S'good,” Ronon said around a mouthful. The heat in the ballroom had curled the hair at his temples into tendrils, and his cheeks were flushed. But he looked relaxed, not quite as wary as he did in Pegasus. Maybe because there weren't any wraith waiting to suck the life out of him or plant tracking devices in his neck. It was more simple here on Earth, partly due to the SGC's vigilance. Most people drove past the Cheyenne Mountain complex and assumed it was just another one of the sprawling military installations that dotted the western landscape and never gave a thought to what lay beneath the surface.

John finished his burger and slouched down, his beer in his hand. He reached over and slid the glass panel wider to let in more air. “So ...” he started. “Why'd you do it?”

“What?”

“Ask Jeannie to teach you to dance?”

Ronon shrugged. A smile played at the corner of his lips, deepening the dimple in his cheek. “It seemed like an Earth thing to do.”

“Earth thing?”

“Teal'c said there are things I should get used to if I'm gonna be bouncing between galaxies as an SGC team member.”

“You and Teal'c talk? Last time I saw you, you were beating the crap out of each other.”

“Something about killing a bunch of wraith made me like the guy.”

John laughed. “Yeah, a real bonding experience.” He gestured to Ronon's empty beer glass. “You want another?”

“I'm good.” His eyes were clear, focused on John's. “You said something before we left the room about unfinished business.”

John grinned. “Did I?”

Ronon's foot bumped his under the table. “Yeah. You did.” He stood up. “I want some air.” He didn't look back as he went out to the balcony. He trusted that John would be there, and he was. They stood side-by-side, shoulders touching as they gazed out at the city below them. It was familiar, but it wasn't Atlantis. John felt a tug at his heart. He wanted the ocean. He wanted the weird double moon overhead, he wanted … Home. He didn’t intend his sigh to be audible.

Ronon's arm slid around his waist under his jacket. His body was warm, and now that the cologne had faded to a whisper of scent, John could smell the familiar spicy musk of his skin. He was aware of every beat of his heart in his chest. He glanced back inside the bar. The lights were low and the bartender was cleaning up. The room was deserted. John drew a breath and took a risk. He turned into Ronon’s embrace. Ronon's eyes widened briefly before he bent his head. They kissed – not long and not deeply – but just the brush of their lips was like striking a match.

“Right now, getting up to the room sounds like a really good idea,” John said when he could breathe again.

“Let's go.”

As they left the bar, John heard the melancholy strains of the last call song, “One For my Baby, and One More For the Road.”   
^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
Another banquet had just ended, and the hall by the elevators was crowded with a wedding party. Ronon looked at John. “Stairs,” he said roughly.

John couldn't agree more. They dodged into the stairwell. Ronon pulled him close for a kiss: one hard kiss that held an edge of both frustration and passion. “Not here.” John started up the stairs two at a time with Dex close on his heels. They paused after three flights, breathing harder than usual, but not out of breath just yet.

John made a quick scan for cameras. They were on a landing hidden from the cameras by the turn of the stairs. He grabbed Ronon's lapels and shoved him against the wall. “Here. Now.” He forced a knee between Ronon's thighs and pressed against him, his hand rubbing the hardness of Ronon's cock. A deep growl of need rose in Dex's throat. Sheppard stopped it with a kiss. Their tongues rubbed and stroked in the same rhythm as his hand. Ronon began to rock into Sheppard’s clasp.

He pushed John away long enough to unbuckle his belt and open his pants. John knelt, inhaling the male scent of skin and semen. He shoved Ronon's boxers down and licked the length of his shaft, finally sucking softly at the head, tasting his come. “You're sweet,” he whispered. “I never had a lover who tasted like you.” Ronon's hands were holding his head, strong hands that were still gentle.

“Don't … stop...” His voice was shaking. His whole body was quivering with need and unreleased tension. John pulled away, looked up into his eyes. God, he loved Ronon's eyes! He realized that a quick blow job in a stairwell wasn't what he wanted after all. He wanted all of Ronon, every inch of him; muscle, skin, scent, breath and heart.

He stood, his hand still on Ronon's cock. He kissed him gently. “Shh … not here.” He saw the flash of anger. Kissed him again to quell it. “It's not a good place to be caught like this. I'll take care of you, I swear it, but not here.”

“Fine.” Ronon shoved him away and zipped up. “Cock-tease.” He took off up the stairs, leaving John cursing in his wake, mad enough to kill the person who had taught Ronon that ugly insult.

Two flights later, he heard Ronon's paces slow. He caught up with him and they both stood breathing hard outside the exit to their floor. Ronon wiped sweat from his forehead. His shoulders slumped slightly as John stood next to him. “Sorry.” He looked vaguely ashamed. “What I said back there … ”

John stopped the words with a kiss. “Forget it. I deserved it. I'm just – Listen, you know that I'm not so good with words. Sometimes – most of the time – I can get myself tied up in knots faster than anybody. Let's just go inside and maybe I can show you what I mean.” His brow cocked up, and Ronon's lips twitched.

“Okay.”

John's eyes narrowed. Just because Ronon was amenable, didn't mean that he wasn't dangerous. He exuded sexual danger just standing there with his hand on the doorknob. “Ready?”

They pushed through the door and walked quickly towards their room. John ran the keycard, felt Ronon close behind him, one hand on his shoulder. The door opened and he was spun inside. Ronon shoved the door closed with a foot, then pinned John between his arms. He took hold of John's shirt and pulled; sending ebony studs flying.

“Whoa, big guy! This is a rented tux. They expect those back.”

“Pay for 'em,” he whispered fiercely against John's lips, tugging at the shirt, pulling it down his arms and letting it fall crumpled to the floor.

“Aw, hell --” John grabbed Ronon's pleated shirt front and ripped. Who gave a damn about studs when all he wanted was to taste Ronon's skin? He ran his tongue along Ronon's clavicle, up the side of his throat. As he did, he unbuckled Ronon's belt and shoved his hands inside the waist of his boxers to fondle him. He was hard, warm, soft as velvet. As Sheppard's knuckles brushed against the sensitive skin of Ronon's groin, he quivered. He moved John forward until he was at the end of the bed. John's knees pressed against the edge of the mattress, undermining his balance until he was prone, unresisting and aching as Ronon stripped him.

He took John into his mouth, sucking softly, tongue swirling over the head of his cock, then backed away to undress himself. John watched hungrily, marveling at the sight. Ronon was beautifully made; tawny and elegant, strong and graceful. Power surrounded him like an nimbus even as he stood naked and fully aroused in front of John.

He took a step towards the bed. John held up his hand. “Let's do this right ...”

Ronon's brow raised. “We were doing it wrong before?”

John choked back a laugh. “We've got one night with a bed that's finally big enough for the both of us. For once, I'd like to not wind up fucking on the floor, okay?” Frustration edged his voice. “I want to make love to you. Right here, right now. Without worrying about the wraith, or ZPMs, or replicators, or whether or not somebody will see me sneaking out of your room at dawn.”

Ronon seemed to consider that. “Okay.” He leaned back against the dresser, waiting for John to settle.

John wondered if he looked ridiculous, stark naked and pulling the covers down while Ronon, equally naked, stood there with his arms crossed, watching him, and not looking ridiculous at all. He tugged the pillows into position and sat on the bed.

Ronon pushed away from the dresser and sat next to him. His shoulder was solid and warm. “You're right,” he said quietly. His hand stroked across John's rumpled hair, cupped the back of his neck. His kiss was gentle, parting John's lips, finding his tongue. And it went on and on until John was dizzy with longing.

They stretched out on that big bed, limbs tangled, John's mouth on Ronon's throat, Ronon touching him, stroking his body with those big, warm, strong hands that knew every inch of skin, every rise of muscle, every scar. It was all Ronon's. It was impossible to imagine a time when Sheppard had believed no one could claim him.

John pulled the black velvet tie from Ronon's hair. His dreadlocks were long, nearly to the small of his back when unbound, and John passed his hand lightly over the wires and beads, the small adornments that Ronon had braided into them and were inevitably a part of him. He threaded his fingers through the locks, used to the way they felt, but still intrigued by the way they framed Ronon’s features and the curls that escaped at his temples and ears, softening the fierce bones of his face.

John licked Ronon's neck, tasting salt and the spice of his skin, flicking over the tribal tattoo marking him as Satedan. He would never tire of the taste. It was addictive. “This is what I want,” he whispered.

“Say it.”

“You.”

Ronon claimed his mouth, his thumbs caressing John's throat. His body covered John's, the weight welcome as it pressed him into the mattress. John felt a scrawl of semen on his thighs from Ronon's cock and shuddered with anticipation. “Lube,” he whispered harshly. He lay still as Ronon rummaged through the drawer. A moment later, he felt the cool slide of liquid as Ronon slicked him up. “Give me some,” he commanded.

Ronon squeezed lube into his palm, and John rolled to the top, straddling Ronon's body. He coated his palms, warming the lubricant before he clasped his hands around Ronon's penis. His muscles quivered as John's thumbs slid easily over his length and John felt that contraction between his legs. He kissed his way up to Ronon's mouth and sucked on his lower lip until Ronon opened to him. Ronon's kiss, the thorough exploration of his mouth, the thrust of his tongue against John's, the sweetness and the strength of it carried John to the edge of orgasm. He broke away, breathless, struggling for control. “I want you in me,” he said.

He didn't often ask and Ronon's eyes widened. “Kiss me again.”

As John feathered kisses across his lips, he felt Ronon's slick fingers preparing him. “Hurry,” he commanded.

“Wait. You're not ready.”

“God, I've been ready since forever,” John moaned. “Fuck … God, please... Ronon ...”

Then there was that easy shift of muscles and John was on his back, looking up into Ronon's flushed face. “Now,” he said. “Now ...”   
^*^*^*^*^*^*^  
He woke an hour later, still half sprawled over Ronon's body. Ronon always slept on his stomach, and for a long time after he'd come to Atlantis, he seemed to scarcely sleep at all. The first time John had stayed with him, before they were lovers, he woke every hour – as if to reassure himself that he hadn't been spirited away to a hive ship and implanted with another tracking device while he slept.

After they had become intimate, he still slept on his stomach, but at least he slept for more than an hour at a time. It was John's duty to watch over him, to touch his shoulder and soothe him back to sleep. As long as John was there, Ronon slept deeply and easily. Eventually, John would do the same.

He sighed softly and Ronon's eyes fluttered open. “Okay?” he murmured.

“Yeah. A little cold.”

Ronon reached out an arm and pulled him close. “Better?”

“Mmm.” He felt Ronon's warm hand spanning his back, moving lightly across his skin before curving around his shoulder to keep their bodies in contact. John slid his palm under Ronon's dreads, mirroring the gesture.

This was how it should be, he thought. But this was what they had. One night. One more for the road. One last call before they stepped through the gate in the morning.

The End  



End file.
